


The Welcome Wagon

by jinxed_wood



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, hlh shortcuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinxed_wood/pseuds/jinxed_wood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one time Methos wasn't paranoid enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Welcome Wagon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lferion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/gifts).



  
  
Sometimes it was strange masquerading as one of the nameless proletariat. Methos had watched the fall of the Triskelion on the news just like everyone else, and made the same noises of bemusement. It wouldn't do to look too knowing, _too_ cynical.  It took another few days for the media to catch up and realise how close the Earth had come to living under the heel of a totalitarian government, but by then Methos had already taken steps. Half a century may have passed but Methos still recognised the sticky paw prints of HYDRA when he saw them.  
  
The first thing he'd done was fire off a burn note on his phone to MacLeod. Usually Mac would send back a teasing note about his abstention from text messaging, but not this time.  
  
“ **It's as bad as you suspect** ,” was all the Highlander sent back.  
  
Methos changed passports and left Seacouver for Paris that night. Mac had dealings with SHIELD during the aftermath of World War II and knew better than to use hyperbole. While the news hadn't show any footage of the Fridge, or it being breached, that didn't mean it hadn't been compromised. It's difficult to report something that wasn't supposed to exist, after all. All those pesky human rights issues.   
  
Weeks passed, and the itch between Methos' shoulder blades began to ease as he fell into the routine of his new life. The media was still obsessed with the story of SHIELD's fall to HYDRA, but he had recently learned that the SHIELD agent that had let him slip away from from his semi indentured servitude during the cold war years, had slid into the mire of senile dementia a couple of years back and took her secrets with her...poor Peggy. She'd always valued her wits, it was truly tragic they had deserted her in the end.

Of course, SHIELD - he didn't believe for a moment that they were fully disbanded - could have taken an inventory and discovered that a certain human sized casket was empty, but they had lost so many artefacts to HYDRA and the military over the last few weeks that Methos doubted they could ever be sure about his fate - a nd, after all, SHIELD had a lot more to worry about at the moment than one measly missing 084.

  
So when Methos received an email from Joe inviting him to Christmas dinner in Seacouver, with Amy and Amanda of all people, he accepted it. True, he was little too old to truly get into the Christmas spirit, but perhaps he could convince Joe to celebrate the Solstice while he was there. His lips twitched as his mind quickly devised several outlandish 'traditions' from the Bronze Age. He wondered how hard he would have to work before he could convince Joe that at least one of them were true – perhaps he could rope in Amanda into the ruse?  
  
Grinning at the thought, he had arranged the flight. 5,000 years old and yet sometimes he was still a fool.   
  


* * *

  
  
Seacouver was the same as it ever was at this time of year: cold, wet and grey. The coffee was good, though, even in the crappy airport lounge he was currently trapped inside, with its Formica seating and bright lights. Methos frowned thoughtfully. Where the hell was Amanda? She should have been here twenty minutes ago.

It was the tea drinker sitting at the counter that first arose his suspicions; a statuesque blonde in jeans and jacket. She was perched delicately on her stool, a smartphone in her hand, and her eyes were scanning the screen as if she was reading it, but not once did she move her fingers to scroll. A little alarm bell went off in the back of his mind and he slowly reached for the plastic menu on the table and covered the lower half of his face as surveyed the room. Not exactly top drawer spycraft, but it  _had_  been seventy years. He was a little rusty.  
  
He spotted the second one sitting at the table nearest to the exit, scowling into his coffee cup as if it had somehow personally offended him, and Methos suppressed a groan as he briefly wondered what would be his odds if he just leaped over the counter and tried to escape through the kitchens before they moved to intercept. If this were an ordinary street cafe, he might have had a chance, but in a busy US airport this close to Christmas? The place would be crawling with military, cops, and security.   
  
He also quickly discarded his second idea. Dying in a hail of bullets might have been an option if he were just dealing with airport security or police, but something in his bones told him he was about to be snagged by SHIELD... or become HYDRA's new special project. Oh joy, the thought made him shudder.  
  
He was debating whether or not he could buy more time by taking a detour to the bathroom, when the view of his stalkers was momentarily obscured by a nondescript suit.  
  
He looked up into bland, polite smile that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.“Is this seat taken?” the man asked.  
  
“Would it make any difference?” Methos asked. American accent, neatly combed hair, perfectly aligned tie... he sighed. “Let me guess, you're the Welcome Wagon.”  
  
“What gave me away?” the American asked, as he slid into the opposite seat.  
  
“Your holster tugs a little too tightly at the shoulder. You should probably invest in a better tailor,” Methos said, leaning back in his chair as his tried to give off an air of nonchalance. From the amused twinkle in the agent's eyes, he suspected he wasn't being very successful.   
  
“I'm afraid the days when I could afford a better tailor are gone. The budget doesn't quite cover it anymore. I'm Phil Coulson, SHIELD.”  
  
Methos smiled grimly. “Hi, Phil Coulson of SHIELD.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Don't I get to see a badge? Just to make this official.”  
  
The agent's lips twitched. “I think we've played with pleasantries enough, Mr Pierson. I'm on a tight schedule.” He leaned forward in his chair. “You see, I have a friend – a very dear friend – and she is one of the kindest people I know. Something was done to her to her against her will that I can't reverse and we think you may be able to help her. We have a plane on a runway right now. We're asking you to come with us.”  
  
“Is that so,” Methos said. “And if I refuse?”  
  
“Well, then we'll have a problem because Peggy Carter was very fond of you,” Coulson said. “And I'd rather not do something that might dishonour her legacy.  
  
"Translation - you'd rather not hurt me but you'll do it anyway,” Methos said aloud. Coulson shrugged but didn't refute his words.   
  
A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye as the hum of another immortal impinged on his senses. He watched as Amanda entered the lounge and scanned the room, a smile fixed on her face as her eyes passed over him, not showing a glimmer of recognition. Methos tried not to let relief show on her face as she turned on her heels and waved enthusiastically at some imagined friend out in the arrivals area before making her escape into the crowds. Clever girl, there was no point in both of them being captured.   
  
He gave Coulson a chilly smile. “Shall we get this over with?” he said, getting to his feet.  
  
A flicker of suspicion showed in the SHIELD agent's eyes, but he gave Methos another genial smile. Methos wondered vaguely how many idiots had been fooled by this agent's gentle manners over the years.  
  
He only hoped he didn't join their ranks.   
  


* * *

  
  
The camouflaged plane on the tarmac drew a raised eyebrow from Methos. He had heard rumours about the technology, of course, but this was the first time he'd actually seen it with his own eyes. They entered the plane via the cargo hold and Methos scanned the interior warily. It was obvious this was more than just a means of transportation. He felt eyes follow them as they climbed a set of steps but he quickly discarded that worry as he sensed a more pressing problem ahead. The low hum of an incipient Immortal...but something was wrong.  
  
There was a girl bouncing restlessly on the balls of her feet when he climbed up into a lounge area. She was armed and trained, and looked like she had enough nervous tension coiled inside her to set off a rocket.  
  
“Skye, this Mr Pierson, AKA Mr Adams, AKA...well, I'm sure he's had a long list of pseudonyms and he's remarkably tight lipped about his real name. Mr Pierson is like your mother, Skye, an Immortal.”  
  
Methos opened his mouth to say that was impossible, but an element of caution told him to keep that to himself.   
  
Amusement twinkled in Coulson's eyes as he continued. “What Mr Pierson was about to say was that Immortals can't have children,” he said. “But what he doesn't know is that there is alien technology involved in this tale.  
  
Methos pulled a face. Of course there was. “All right, you've got me,” he said. “Say your piece.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Bemused, Methos listened to Coulson's tale of Inhumans, Immortals and Diviners, letting the words wash over him as he eyed the kid who was now restlessly lounging in an armchair. She was shaken and scared but hiding it rather well. Apparently, her mother had been an ordinary, everyday Immortal, who had been captured by HYDRA during World War II. She had succeeded in slipping away when her internment camp was liberated but was recaptured again by a HYDRA sleeper agent soon after Skye's birth, and had her Immortality gleaned from her DNA. That last bit made Methos shiver.   
  
He wanted to say she couldn't have been one of them but the familiar-yet-not hum of Skye's body grated on his teeth. Her immortality hadn't been triggered yet but something told him it wouldn't be long now, especially with the life she led. Methos wondered what strange new being would be created when that happened.  
  
He wondered what he should say first – 'no way in hell' or 'rumours of your mother's death have been wildly exaggerated'. It occurred to him, he could fold both comments into one and find a way out of this mess.  
  
“I'm not the one you're looking for,” he said.  
  
“I'm afraid that's not going to work, Mr Pierson, Agent Carter left quite extensive records about you-”  
  
“That's not what I meant,” Methos interrupted. “I mean, you've got the wrong Immortal. You should be looking for Skye's mother.”  
  
“We already told you, she's dead,” Skye said flatly.  
  
“Methos looked from Coulson to Skye, and then back Coulson again. “Hmm, interesting,” he said. “It seems Peggy redacted a few things out of my file after all.”  
  
Agent Coulson folded his arms, all traces of the genial American suddenly gone. “Why don't you just stop playing around and tell us what you know, Mr Pierson.”  
  
Methos smirked and leaned back on the couch. “Well, it's very simple Agent Coulson. I'm an Immortal, I do not age and I do not die – at least, not permanently – unless I quite literally lose my head.”  
  
For a long, long moment he just stared at Methos unblinkingly, and then he suddenly sprung to life, activating his ear mic. “Did you get that?” he said. “Dig up Whitehall's body. Make sure it's still there!”  
  
Damn it, Methos hadn't thought of that possibility. A HYDRA agent who knew about Immortals and may have possibly found a way of becoming an Immortal himself. If it were true, then it may have just become open season on his kind. He swallowed dryly. He needed to run, and keep on running until he couldn't anymore-   
  
A sharp sting flooded hit his neck, and a deep lethargy radiated through him. He twisted to see another agent, eyes narrowed as she looked down the sight of her gun at him. He swung around to Coulson. “You shot me!”  
  
He shrugged. “Relax, Agent May just tagged you, he said lightly. “And yes, we may have put a little something extra into the mix to knock you out for a while. but we can't have you running away now, can we? Welcome back to SHIELD, Mr Pierson. The pay isn't good, and the dental is terrible, and there is the little matter of us being an illegal organisation, but it's never boring and – let's face it – anything is better than the Fridge.  
  
“Bastard,” Methos muttered through sleep thickened lips as his eyes closed. He could hear the smirk in Coulson's voice as he faded into unconsciousness.  
  
“You'll come to like me. I make a great Pina Colada and have great taste in beer.”


End file.
